Friends Forever Super Special #2: Graduation Day (Part Two)
Welcome back to our tearful loving fond adequate farewell to the BSC series.
The first part of this snark, posted eons ago, can be found here. If reading snarks isn't really your thing (But how could it not be?), then here's a quick summary: the eighth grade is finally ending, as is the Baby-Sitters Club's time at Stoneybrook Middle School. Next year the gang will be attending Stoneybrook High School, a much larger facility, and each girl has different feelings on the matter: Kristy is terrified, Mary Anne is excited, Stacey is ambivalent, and Claudia is hungry.
This book is pretty low on plot, and mostly has letters for filler: the graduates are writing letters from their eighth-grade selves, to be mailed to their twelfth-grade selves in the future, and there is also a time capsule in the works, to be opened in seven years. Letters all around! And now, for the
Kristy
Kristy's still struggling to write a letter to her future self. Personally, I don't see what would be so complicated about this. "Dear Future Kristy: Greetings! I hope our plans for the 2003 merger and acquisition of the We ♥ Kids Club have been successful. By graduation, I assume the BSC will have gained approximately 10 000 members, organized into 1000 smaller cells, each of whom defer to me as the Supreme High Chancellor."
Instead, Kristy goes all afternoon talk show host on us, talking about how strong her mom was to raise a single family, blah blah blah. This segues into her daddy issues, which have gone deliciously untapped until now. Kristy unfortunately cuts this train of thought off, instead of letting said daddy issues fester into a complex that would manifest itself via rebellious lower-back tattoos and badly-chosen boyfriends. Which is a shame, because a California Diaries-style spin-off series that includes Teen Mom Kristy in a crop top would be like a dream come true to me. Yes, my dreams include fictional teen dictators getting their comeuppance. World peace just isn't as satisfying.
Kristy begins a new letter, which talks about the BSC with such relentless optimism that it could be a parody. A snark, if you will: "A defining event in my life was the day I thought up the idea for the Baby-sitters Club. The Club has been just great. It has led to all sorts of wonderful, wonderful things, such as friendship and money. I am so proud of myself. And of my friends. We really made a success of our business." They are the best friend you'll ever have, goddamnit.
Sadly, before we can watch her retell the entire series from her own crazed point-of-view, Charlie comes home, excited that he's been accepted to a college. Kristy's all, "Tits, that's a local college, you can live at home and keep driving me and my squadron of friends everywhere," and Charlie's like, "Eff that noise, I can't bang drunken co-eds if Karen keeps interrupting to play Let's All Come In. I'm living on campus and moving to California as soon as possible, because that's the only other place that exists in the world outside of Connecticut." Kristy is so bummed to be losing her personal taxi driver that the chapter ends with her sulking in her room.
Jackie
A time capsule letter from Jackie Rodowsky? Uh...sure. This book is baffling. There isn't even a letter from Karen in here, but we're getting one from Jackie Rodowsky? Was he the dark horse of the series or something?
Jackie's letter reads as mildly amusing, because it's basically a two-and-a-half page love letter to Kristy. No joke, this kid is obsessed with her. Honestly, book, we all know Kristy's deal at this point; it's a bit late on the campaign trail to try and score points. When Jackie reveals that "Whenever I see Kristy coming I yell inside my head, Look out!!!! Here comes fun!!!!!", I feel a little bad, knowing that when Kristy sees Jackie coming, she yells inside her head "Look out! Here comes the Walking Disaster!", and then books out of there like he's carrying a new strain of the bubonic plague. Jackie seems blissfully unaware of this status, at least.
Jessi
It's Jessi's letter for the time capsule, and Jessi is getting a thoughtful, considerate sendoff, just like Mal did! Haha, oh wait, no she isn't, because Jessi's black. Jessi includes a newspaper clipping of a hate crime committed in a nearby town, and then goes on a very long speech about intolerance that doesn't sound at all like it was written by an eleven-year old. Now, don't get me wrong, I think ignoring societal inequalities is just another way of perpetrating them. But godamnit, couldn't they just write Jessi as her own character instead of the classic token who was created just to make the cast look more diverse and maybe snag some sales from an untapped market to boot? Maybe she could talk about dancing? And ponies? Ponies who dance, perhaps? But honestly, this series hasn't given Jessi much in the way of personality so far....why would they start now?
Stacey
Because this book doesn't want to deal with any plot not involving letters, Stacey is working on hers for the eighth-grade graduates. She begins talking about how the diabeetus is the Big Event That Changed Her Life.
Before the urge to shake Stacey around by her body waved hair rises, she suddenly has the realization that we all did, about one hundred books ago: her diabetes is not terminal cancer. "Why am I telling myself this? I know I have diabetes. And I'll still have it four years from now when I read this letter." I dunno. To fill out another chapter?
Stacey shifts gears to our next Very Special Topic, and it's not how to use your mother's credit card to pay for your birth control without it showing up on her statement. No, it's....Divorce. Stacey contemplates how the divorce changed her family, and how it will change again once her father marries Samantha. Then Stacey zones out and imagines what is possibly the most hilarious sequence in BSC history:
"I am standing with my friends behind the podium that will be set up on the grounds of SMS . . . and looking out at the audience -- all the gathered friends and family members. In the front row I see Mom, Dad . . . and Samantha. Only not seated in that order. Samantha is between Mom and Dad, for some reason. And I can feel the tension from where I am standing. Mom, who has been seething ever since Samantha sat down, pokes Samantha in the side. Samantha pokes her back. Dad pretends not to see this. Then Mom subtly pulls a strand of Samantha's hair, and Samantha yanks a whole handful of Mom's hair. In a flash, a huge fight has broken out. Everyone knows it's my stupid family having the fight and hundreds of pairs of eyes turn on me. I have disrupted the entire graduation ceremony, and I haven't done a thing."
Although Mortal Kombat: Graduation Day is extra hilarious and everything (I love how in Stacey's imagination, her dad would ignore his wife and ex-wife squabbling, as if he's secretly hoping a cat-fight will break out and he might get to see a glimpse of boob), I'm not buying that Stacey would be worrying like this. Didn't Stacey's parents have a fairly amicable divorce (as far as divorces go)? They weren't fighting for custody or anything. I think most 13 year-olds are intelligent enough to understand that her father isn't going to sit his new wife next to his ex-wife. This is something ludicrous Karen would dream up (Oh lord, and then she would hatch some hair-brained scheme to hold two separate graduations, and would dummy up fake invitations to send to each set of parents, and try to get all her classmates to agree to be in on the scheme, because godamnit Ricky, getting your parents to attend two graduations in the same day is just something you have to do for your wife).
Stacey continues to worry unnecessarily, because OMG, where are dad and Samantha going to stay? You know, for a suave, sophisticated New Yorker, Stacey can be pretty effing stupid. It's called a hotel, sweetie. If my hometown of 7000 people managed to boast two, New York must have at least a four or five. Ok, so one of the hotels in my hometown was actually converted from the old schoolboard office, but it got the job done, damnit!
Luckily, Stacey soon finds something new and utterly pointless to lose her shit about -- she's received a letter from the school library, notifying her that the book Ribsy is overdue, and if she doesn't return it, she's unable to graduate. This sends Stacey into a confused spin: "What was this? I had an overdue library book and I couldn't graduate until I returned it? And that overdue book was a copy of Ribsy? When had I taken Ribsy out of our library? I couldn't believe I had ever checked it out. Ribsy is a fabulous story (I love Beverly Cleary's books), but it is a tad on the babyish side for someone who is about to enter high school."
Number one, fuck you Stacey. Beverly Cleary is awesome, which is why I'm 26 and have a whole shelf full of her books. You know what's babyish? Sheep on your goddamn sweater! That's right! It's been a long time, but I still remember what you wore in Kristy's Great Idea!
Number two, take a freaking chill pill, because no school is going to keep you in the eighth grade for the rest of your whole life because you can't find a book. Seriously, what are you going to do the next year when you don't have the book? Or the year after that? Apparently Stacey actually grew under a rock, not in New York, because along with being clueless about hotels, she's never heard of paying a fine..
"The only good thing about not being able to graduate was that now my mother and Samantha wouldn't have a fistfight in front of all of SMS." Well, that and you'll be keeping Claudia company when she fails everything.
Kristy
Kristy's letter for the time capsule begins with her disclaimer that "I'm not sure exactly who will be opening this time capsule seven years from now. It should be Byron, Jordan, and Adam Pike, along with other people from the neighborhood. But you never know." In seven years, Byron, Jordan, and Adam Pike are going to be 17. Based on my knowledge of 17-year olds, they'll probably be in a liquor store somewhere, trying to convince some clerk that their aggregate ages and identical DNA totally makes them legal enough to by a bottle of Boone's strawberry wine. Some time capsule they did when they were ten probably isn't high on their list of concerns, particularly since none of their time capsule letters are even featured in this book.
Other than that, Kristy talks up the BSC, and lists all the super amazing things they've done: talent shows, basket-weaving, baby parades, carnivals, performances of The Three Billy Goats Gruff, goat-sitting. No joke, goats made the list twice. At this point, Kristy should have taken a step back, looked at the massive list of BSC accomplishments, and said "Holy shitsnacks! I've wasted the last two years of my life, and I didn't even get paid for a lot of this stuff!" But Kristy is a robot, programmed only for baby-sitting and baby-sitting related activities. Instead, she encourages the reader of the letter to take inspiration from the Club flyer, and start their own Baby-Sitters Club! Why, I bet even I, the reader of this book, could do that! Because there's nothing like providing free advertising for a book series that's about to draw its last breath.
Abby
Abby's contribution to the time machine is a home-made photo album, detailing who the "major neighborhood players" were at the time of the capsule's creation. I see that playing out in two different scenarios. Either A: The time capsule is opened, as intended, by the Pike triplets in seven years, and everyone there is like, "Why the fuck did Abby include these pictures? We know who made the time capsule -- we were there. What a moron." Or B: The more likely scenario, everyone forgets the time capsule until eighty years down the road, someone needs to check the septic tank in Mary Anne's backyard and uncovers it. They find Abby's album and are like, "Hot damn, baby-sitting was serious business back in the day!"
Abby proceeds to include captions for each of the photos, but the "photos" aren't actually included in the book. We just get Abby's description of said photos. No, I'm not shitting you. I don't know if they thought this book might get too exciting with pictures, but I can assure you: it's not. One of the repeated criticisms of the BSC books is that they really need to work on showing, not telling. This cannot be more true in the case of photos. I'm genuinely tempted to send Ann M. Martin a hate letter for this one, because this just takes the cake. Godamn, this book is so slapped-together and lazy.
On the plus side, I thought of a third option for the fate of the time capsule. C: Time passes, more than seven years, maybe a decade or two. Mallory, having grown stranger and stranger over the years, returns with a shovel on a dark stormy night, and digs up the time capsule (For some reason, she's also wearing a Phantom of the Opera-style mask and cape. Mallory seems like someone who would be scarily obsessed with Phantom of the Opera). She takes the letters and that beloved photo album home, lovingly stroking them and dreaming of days gone by.
Claudia
Poor Claudia. Poor, sweet, dumb Claudia. Because this is the laziest book ever, Claudia is trying to write her letter to her future self and failing. She is also scarily determined to write said letter, because apparently she's terrified of everyone "(and by 'everyone,' I mean Kristy)" asking her at the end of high school if she had received her letter, and having to say "no." Sweet Jesus, Claudia, this is the point when you need to get out of this relationship and get to a shelter. They're totally anonymous, and Kristy won't be able to find you there.
Claudia is so pathetically simple that it's never occurred to her to just lie about the letter, but she does consider mailing herself a blank piece of paper. Even that, apparently, would be too much of a reminder of what a pathetic student she is. I feel like I need to interject here. Claudia, seriously, when you graduate high school you'll be grateful not to receive a letter from your 13 year-old self. No one needs to be reminded of how lame they were at 13. You'll just be blathering on about how Devon Sawa is the best actor ever and Party of Five is the best TV show ever and Prozzäk is the best band ever. Actually, I still quite like Prozzäk.
Because this book can never achieve an emotional high above "turbo depressing," Claudia stops panicking about her letter and starts flipping out about school instead. You see, Claudia received a science project back that was worth 25% of her grade. Speaking of, the subject of Claudia and school sure must have constantly resulted in this little exchange at Scholastic:
Editor 1: Ok, we need to create a problem for Claudia. How about...she's having trouble with school? Having trouble with school is something a lot of kids can relate to!
Editor 2: I like it! But we don't want her to actually seem stupid. Nobody respects stupid people.
Editor 1: I've got it -- we'll continue writing her as being of normal intelligence, but just insert inexplicable problems with school. Everybody wins!
Editor 2: That's perfect! We're sure to win a Newberry medal now! *High fives*
True to form, Claudia submitted a project that sounded reasonably competent (thesis, control groups, etc) but received an inexplicably low grade: D+. What the hell, Science Teacher? Based on her description, she covered all the basics for an eighth-grade science paper. Jesus, you should be grateful she didn't submit a papier-mache volcano. Apparently having Janine and the Perkins girls in the school systems have really wrecked the grading curve for everyone.
Claudia, in a blind panic that even mallomars binge cannot soothe, calls Stacey. Stacey offers to tutor Claudia in science as well as math, and Claudia immediately feels better, noting it was "just like the old days." Awww.
Stacey
Stacey's letter for the time capsule reads pretty much like Kristy's -- a reference letter endorsing the BSC. She says that when she had the choice to live in either New York or Stoneybrook, she chose Stoneybrook because of the BSC and all those heartwarming, child-centric activities they always organize. Then she includes a flyer from a talent show the BSC held, and describes said talent show for the reader. Because there's nothing like reading about an utterly boring talent show -- unless it's someone describing said talent show for you in a letter.
Claire
Yes, Claire gets a letter in this book too, because heaven forbid there be some actual dialogue or character interaction or anything. Claire is placing her bear, Ba-ba, in the time capsule, and her letter is a long treatise on why, as dictated to Vanessa. Seriously, that's it. Sure, there's a momentary shout-out to Uncle Joe, but other than that, it's three pages of "Little Girl Likes Her Doll."
Along with having better handwriting than half of the BSC members and better spelling than Claudia, Vanessa has proven herself to have boatloads more common sense as well. She includes at note at the end of Claire's letter warning that she doesn't think Claire understands that her bear will be locked away in the time capsule permanently, and when she asked Mallory about it, Mallory just said to throw the damn bear in. Mallory should lose baby-sitter merit points for that one, since it shows an utter lack of understanding of her own sister or ANY FIVE YEAR-OLD EVER. You know locking the bear up and burying it is going to lead to a massive shitstorm -- this seems like Baby-Sitting 101. I like to think Mal was caught up in some fantastical fantasy in her own head, like dreaming she had solved the mystery of Who Killed Phar Lap?
Even more than that, though, I like the fact that Vanessa made a specific note of Mallory's poor judgement, even though it would serve no purpose once the letter was in the time capsule. It's like, "And that's how Mallory was a dumb bitch . If you dig up this time capsule and there are claw marks on the outside that look as though they were made by a five year-old girl, you know why."
Dawn
"I guess some of you are looking at this and wondering why someone who lives in California has been asked to participate in the Stoneybrook time capsule project." Dawn, honey, you are overestimating people's interest in this little time capsule. She also gets weirdly personal with her letter, going into unnecessary detail about her time spent in Stoneybrook. Seriously, I'm not sure these girls even understand the point of a time capsule. It's not supposed to be for showcasing you and your little clique of friends, particularly if said clique are the ones opening the stupid time capsule. Remembering she's supposed to be talking about Stoneybrook, Dawn includes a page of advertisements from the local newspaper, and starts speculating on how the prices might change in the future. And by "the future," we mean, of course, in seven years. My god, do you think the continents will have shifted by then? Stoneybrook might not even exist!
Dawn particularly focuses on the cost of airfare, since she and Jeff fly across the country so much, which leads to this awkward line: "Well, who knows? In seven years, maybe air travel will have changed somehow . . ." She's referring to the cost and speed of airtravel, but it's particularly cringeworthy considering the book's publication in 2000. I gotta say, I'm pretty glad this series ended before it had to either ignore September 11th or attempt to address it with grace, and of course fail horrifically.
"[Stoneybrook]'s been a second home to me, but the less time I spend here the less connected I feel to it, and I don't like that. If you live in Stoneybrook now, enjoy it. It's a great place to live!" This message has been sponsored by your friends at the Stoneybrook Department of Tourism.
Mary Anne
Because this book is a one-trick pony that needs to be taken out on a hot date with the business end of a shotgun, Mary Anne is trying to write a letter. And failing at it. Seriously, guys, I'm pretty sure we could give the BSC a better send-off than this, and we hate these characters.
Mary Anne can't seem to find the words to say to her future, 17-year old self. Could it be because she's not sure what the future holds? Is it because she is sure what the future holds, and doesn't want to think of it? Is it because your past self telling your future self stuff you already know is is pointless exercise? Oh wait, no, apparently it's because she's "blocking" because she has unresolved feelings for Logan.
Ummm....Wut?
Jesus, it's like this book is playing musical chairs with leotarded plot points now. Where did that even come from? I'm not sure what offends me more -- how unapologetically lazy this book is, with it's utter rejection of plot and dialogue, or this complete reversal of Mary Anne's character. I recently read Mary Anne vs. Logan as possible snark material, and the reason I haven't snarked it is because it's actually an ok book. I mean, ignoring the fact that the characters act much older than 13, it does a decent job of addressing how some girls become completely overwhelmed by early relationships, and Mary Anne actually realizes this and stands up for herself. It's one of the better moments for her character (And this is coming from someone who hates Mary Anne), and to have her going crawling back to Logan after breaking up with him a second time (Friends Forever #3: Mary Anne's Big Break-up) is completely antithetical to her character in this book. The way these books can drive me into a raw, white-hot rage is almost admirable.
Mary Anne herself admits that her relationship with Logan should be finished business, considering her very good reasons for breaking up with him. "And yet, now that we weren't speaking, now that Logan did occasionally see other girls, why did my decision seem . . . not quite right? I remembered the things that had been wrong with our relationship -- and suddenly they seemed fixable."
Christ on a crutch, Mary Anne, grow a pair! "I love Logan! I hate Logan! I love Logan!" This whole fiasco has drifted perilously close to Friends territory. Logan is one greasy gel-do away from being Ross Geller (Alternately, Ross is one secret crush on Chandler away from being Logan).
Being a woman of action, Mary Anne heads picks up the phone...and hangs it up again. She picks up the phone, dials one number...and hangs up. She picks up the phone and dials three numbers for hanging up. This occurs five more times before she completely dials Logan's number and then creepily hangs up on his sister without saying anything. Mary Anne finally gives up on the phone idea and goes to make supper, but "I had made a decision. I needed to talk to Logan." Is there amnesia gas in here or something? If she just decided to talk to Logan, then what was all the phone-dialing about? Was it just serving Mary Anne's compulsory need to push buttons? Cause I gotta tell ya, Mary Anne, a calculator will serve the same purpose and probably result in fewer harassment charges.
Claudia
Claudia's letter for the time capsule details all of the different events occurring that year to celebrate Stoneybrook's 250-year anniversary. Nice sentiment and all, but since it doesn't involve my town and I don't get a chance to mingle in the town square and get a slice of delicious cake balanced on a paper napkin, I'm finding it hard to care. Moving on.
Charlotte
Man, I wish Karen had a chapter in this book. You know her letter for the time capsule would be some awesome scam she was trying to run, trying to convince the reader that she was actually the princess of Stoneybrook, and when they opened the time capsule seven years in the future, they should come pay her tribute. Sadly, Charlotte isn't a self-absorbed brat, so she just included the school lunch menu and talks about Stacey.
Stacey
Stacey has apparently forgotten the Library Book of Absolute Failure and managed to complete her letter to her future self. She gives Future Stacey an overview of the current state of affairs, including the fact that her mother is about to open her own store, and that four years from now, it will be a big success. Seeing as most businesses fail in their first few years, I wish Stacey a grim, "Good luck." Stacey describes her father as a "another story" and a "workaholic." Jeez, bigdad, when your 13 year-old daughter describes you with such loving terms of endearment, it's a hint that maybe you should stop trolling the Sexy Singles chat rooms and start spending some time with her.
Stacey also notes that bigdad and Samantha will be getting married soon, and she hopes that her father will want more children, both a boy and a girl. "After all," she says modestly, "he had a pretty nice kid the first time around." I dunno Stace, after having one child stricken with the tragedy of diabetes, I'm not sure your father could endure that pain again.
Stacey does all but admit that she'll be dropping Kristy and Mary Anne like dead weight once she hits high school, and I commend her for it (Obligatory Mean Girls reference: "Kristy learned how to channel all her rage into sports, and Mary Anne found herself a new queen bee to serve"). Stacey also assumes she'll be done with Ethan by the time she receives this letter back, because Stacey is a serial dater and goes through men the way most people go through tooth brushes.
And her plans for the future? "I don't know what I want to study in college, though. Maybe something involving math? Or business? (I bet you're laughing at this now. I bet you're on your way to Connecticut College to study history or something.)" I bet she does late-night commercials for a phone sex service. "Hi, I'm Stacey, and I'd love to get your call. Try Quest now!"
Mary Anne
Urgghh, didn't we just have a Mary Anne chapter? I don't like Mary Anne! There, I said it. *Inhales* Just a few chapters left, I can endure.
Mary Anne doesn't know what feels better -- finishing her letter to her future self, or talking to Logan. Considering how long-winded and self-congratulating that effing letter is, I know what my guess is. We'll tackle that letter first ("I'll get to [Logan] in a minute, though" Mary Anne reassures us, and being starved for drama after slogging through this bare-bones husk of a book, I find myself excited at the prospect).
Mary Anne considers the fire that burnt down her house to be the most defining event of her life, as it caused she and her family to spend "almost a year living in flux", a statement that leaves the series' continuity so in flux that my brain goes in knots trying to sort it out. This "almost a year" period seems to run from second-to-last book of the Baby-Sitters Club (#131: The Fire at Mary Anne's House) to book eleven of Friends Forever (Welcome Home, Mary Anne). So our "almost a year" equals out to be thirteen books -- most of the Friends Forever series -- which is fine and dandy, assuming you completely ignore the 120 books of the original BSC series that the girls also spent in the eighth grade (For the first ten-or-so books, they were in the seventh grade). The editors all but out-and-out say, "Yeah, this doesn't make any sense, but we're not going to try and correct it, because....well, we don't care to." It's just...I...what is this...I don't even...
Huh? I guess I blacked out there for a second. Where was I? Oh yes, the fire. The fire, Mary Anne declares proudly, has made her a stronger person. That's why she broke up with Logan -- she felt like he was smothering her, and she wanted control over her own life. Then she spends the next three pages blathering on about Logan, asking her future self if they're together. She even talks about how they'd probably gong to be going to different schools -- Logan will want to get into whatever school has the best theatre department, but she wants to study Psychology (Mary Anne's Master's thesis: "A Baby-Sitting Apostate: Cult Behaviour in Teenaged Girls"). Now here's a little spoiler for you: after finishing her letter, Mary Anne admits that nothing happened between her and Logan. No joke. Apparently, she asked Logan to meet her after school ("He hadn't sounded thrilled with the idea . . .") and "nothing earth-shattering happened." Translation: he turned her down. Man, Mary Anne is fucking crazy. Her eighth-grade ex-boyfriend shot her down, and she's writing a letter to her future self asking if they're going to college together? Holy cow, Mary Anne just edged Mallory out for "Most Bat-Shit Insane Person in the BSC."
Final point to bitch about: WE DON'T EVEN GET TO SEE THE CONVERSATION BETWEEN HER AND LOGAN. She just recounts it in a couple of sentences. Oh my god, why does this book hate action? Guys, it's not a movie. You don't have to build the sets. You just have to write about them. Jesus, even California Diaries did a pretty good job of retelling "action" sequences after they happened. WHY WON'T YOU LET ME HAVE ANY FUN, BOOK?!?
Claudia
Claudia's letter to her future self is my favourite, partially because she's my favourite character, and partially because it's freaking hilarious. For her letter, she decides to interview herself. The letter is actually scripted between herself and a third-person "Interview Person." I love it. So much. It reminds me of when Talking Heads frontman David Byrne dressed up in costumes and interviews himself. It's kooky and weird and so awesomely Claudia.
The "Interview Person" asks Claudia who the most important people in her life are, and after a very long response, the Interviewer notes that she left someone out.....
Interview Person: Don't forget Alan.
Me: How could I forget Alan. Well I don't realy think we'll still be together in 4 yars. It's just such a long time away. But Alan and I are having fun now. I think will hang out over the summer and then -- Excuse me interviewier but could we not talk about Alan now.
Interview person: Oh is Alan a sore subject. Well we dont have to talk about him.
She actually asks herself about Alan, and then asks not to talk about him! What a nut! And then, this...
Interviewer person: Is there anything else you would like to add.
Me: I really realy hope I pass my finals so I can go on to SHS with my friends next yar. I couldn't bare to be held back again.
Freindly Interview person: You' will pass them. Don't worry.
Me: Thank you.
Well, that "freindly interview person" doesn't know shit, and the fact that Claudia manages to misspell "really" after just spelling it properly pretty much screams that she's going to fail. Checking some of her graded exams at the school office, Claudia learns she failed Science. She'll be spending another year in the eighth grade.
Kristy
Kristy's letter to her future self is as sad as Claudia's is hilarious, and I really can't snark it. As lazy as this book has been, they really captures how Kristy -- crazy, bossy, controlling Kristy -- would react, internally, if everything started changing on her. I'm just gonna quote a few choice bits, since I think the words would lose their impact if I haphazardly summed them up. Kristy talks about how everything has been changing (her family, school, her friends), and how the BSC drew her and her friends closer together, and gave them so many opportunities.
"You know what? I have to admit something. I will admit it only once, and only here. The club is so important to me that I have been really hurt that it has changed and that it will probably change again. Whenever anybody dropped out of the club . . . I felt stung. And recently, when [people] dropped out . . . and when Stacey, Claud, and Mary Anne said they could stay in the club but would have to scale back, I felt as if my world had fallen away. I know that sounds overly dramatic . . . but that is how I felt.
"The Baby-sitters Club is my baby. It's my creation. I am SO proud of it. It may seem small and amateurish to some people, but it doesn't to me. It is the greatest thing I have done, and I must keep it alive. If it ends, a little part of me will die. And the worst thing is that no one understands this.
"Why is the BSC not as important to anyone else as it is to me? Maybe in four years I'll have the answer to that. Right now I just feel as though I am standing at the edge of a cliff. I feel alone, and I feel scared, and I feel confused because I know I am the only one of my friends who feels this way. Everyone else is ready to move ahead . . . And I'll be left standing at my cliff, afraid to fall, unable to turn around and go back . . ."
"So there we have it. I suppose the creation of the Baby-sitters Club was the defining event of my life. It must have been, if it's all I can write about now. I mean, here's my opportunity to write about Dad, about the impact his leaving had on our family and on my life, about how mad him I've been. And here's my opportunity to write about what Watson's coming into our lives meant, about Emily's arrival. But all I can focus on is the Baby-sitters Club. Or maybe I'm obsessing about it. Who knows?"
Hey, I wonder who'll get all the treasury money if the BSC breaks up?
Charlie
I guess Charlie's finally getting some well-deserved attention after all those years of carting around Kristy & co., because his letter that he wrote to himself when he was thirteen is included. Unfortunately, Charlie's handwriting sucks ass, and I'm not going to struggle to decipher it. Honestly, do they not sell lined paper in this town??
Stacey: Wednesday, June 21
Remember that big drama-rama about Stacey not graduating because of that stupid library book? Well, apparently it resolved itself. Off-screen. Stacey's like, "Oh, yeah, I realized I was being dumb and just bought a new book to replace it." I count my lucky stars that I didn't check this book out from a library, because it's going up in smoke the moment I'm finished.
Now that that nail-biting problem has been solved, the time capsule can be buried! Everyone crowds around to drop in their letters and items, and Kristy is all, "Claire, are you sure you wanna lock your stuffed bear into this tin can...forever?"
Vanessa is like, "I know, right?!" but Mal just shrugs. God, it's like they couldn't get the actress who plays Mallory back for the last episode, and now they're trying to draw as little attention as possible to the new actress by not giving her any lines. Kristy throws the first handful of dirt on the time capsule, and as it's completely buried, Claire "looked horrified."
Oh well, I'm sure she'll get over it.
Mary Anne: Thursday, June 22
She didn't get over it.
First thing the next morning, the phone rings, which Sharon answers as quickly as possible for fear it will wake up Dawn and Jeff, who flew in late the night before (First time that's been mentioned). Handing the phone off to Mary Anne, it's a screaming Claire, who is unsurprisingly hysterical because her beloved bear is trapped under the cold, hard ground. Then Mrs. Pike gets on the line, sounding bitchy because apparently they've been awake since 12 am, when Claire woke up and started crying. Jesus Dee, just give her a Gravol hidden in a hunk of cheese, it'll knock her right out. Then Mallory gets on the phone, crabbily demanding that the time capsule be dug up. Apparently Mallory left her cognizance at boarding school, because I seem to recall this little disaster being her fault.
Mary Anne, ever the milksop to the end, frets that they should notify Kristy before digging up the time capsule. Jesus, the damn thing is buried in Mary Anne's own yard. If she had dressed all in black and snuck out in the middle of the night to dig it up, Kristy probably wouldn't have found out about it. But Mary Anne had to go tell, and Kristy reacts as one would to having an enema. She's only moderately appeased at getting to see Dawn, who in turn gets to see a tin can be dug up and then buried again. Stoneybrook: It's a non-stop thrill ride!
Claudia: Thursday, June 22
OMG YOU GUYZ CLAUDIA IS GOING TO GRADUATE WITH EVERYONE ELSE!!1! Luckily, it's all been resolved...off-screen. WHY!? WHY IS THIS BOOK SO BORING!?
Apparently Claudia's parents went to talk to the guidance counsellor, and worked out a deal where Claudia takes science in summer school, but she'd still be allowed to attend graduation with her friends. Except she won't get a diploma, she'll get a blank piece of paper. So everything's ok, then. What a pointless plot contrivance. Except for the part where Claudia's parents slipped some cash to the guidance counsellor. You'd think a guidance counsellor accepting under-the-table bribes to allow some kids to take part in a phoney-baloney graduation would be the subject of a BSC mystery. Apparently when you're on the receiving end of the perks, it's ok though. Oh well...I guess every boring cloud has a silver lining.
Seeing as I didn't care when I received my high school diploma, I didn't care when I received my bachelor's degree, and I'm not anticipating a lot of excitement about receiving my master's degree, I'm finding it incredibly difficult to care about these girls graduating from the eighth grade. Especially since one of them isn't even graduating. As the girls line up for the ceremony, Kristy of all people bursts into tears. Will someone please get that poor girl some help??
As they file through the gym and outside to the bleachers, Claudia can hear "the sound of our school band tuning up (minus all its eighth-grade members, of course", and I cringe at the thought. A smattered pack of eleven and twelve year-olds playing at your graduation? Enjoy marching to a poorly-tuned version of "Pop Goes the Weasel," ad nauseum. After some boring-ass speeches (Fun Fact: Emily Bernstein was the valedictorian), Claudia marches to the podium, receives her diploma (Sorry, blank piece of paper), and hears a cry from the audience which she suspects is her parents shouting with relief. Yeah, I wouldn't get too excited, Kishis. She barely passed eighth grade. Odds are, things are going downhill from here. I suspect you'll have to push this one out of the nest after she refuses to move out, arguing it's cheaper to live at home and work on "her art."
The girls joyfully celebrate the fact that most of them have a minimum of eight years of schooling ahead of them, just so they can enter the workforce with a worthless degree in direct competition with a bunch of baby boomers who have more experience and refuse to retire. Do I sound bitter? I'm not bitter. Before everyone heads off to Claudia's for a graduation party, Kristy is determined to drag everyone into her bog of depression, requesting a group photo of all the BSC members.
"'Why?' asked Dawn.
"'Because I want one picture to remind me of us as we used to be,' said Kristy. 'Before some of us graduated and everything changed.'"
"When I looked at that picture later," Claudia comments, "after Janine had had her film developed, I saw one of the most somber pictures ever taken of the eight of us." Call me creepy, but am I the only one who can see this leading to a suicide pact? If so, then props to AMM for ballsiness. A suicide pact between all of the series' main characters is certainly something the Sweet Valley High writers never had the guts to touch. Take that, 1bruce1!
Kristy: June 23
Last chapter! It's a post-graduation party at Claudia's house, which means this shit is gonna get wild! And boy howdy, it does....with glitter balloons! "We are . . . the Baby-sitters Club!" cries Mary Anne, and I cry at how lame she is. Best to get this one to bed, before she gets overstimulated.
Jessi bemoans being left alone at SMS, with her friends either graduating or at boarding school. "You'll survive," comforts Mallory. "At least you won't be a lowly sixth-grader anymore. Seventh grade is much cooler." I scoff out loud at this statement, as I refuse to believe Mallory has any idea as to what's cool. The girls discuss what's going to be the best part of high school: "Older guys" for Claudia, who apparently forgets about Alan the second he's out of the room, and "better dances" for Stacey, who dreams of some sweet underage drinking. "Better everything," says Mary Anne wistfully. Why do these girls think high school is Shangri-La? I get some grim amusement from the knowledge that, being freshmen, these girls will be at the bottom rung of high school's social ladder and will be torn apart like a hot dog at a pigeon party.
As everyone begins speculating on what the future may hold, Kristy begins freaking out, until Mary Anne bitchslaps her and is like, "Kristy, shut up. We'll probably drift apart in the future and keep in touch via phone and Christmas cards. And when one of us has a wedding or a baby shower, we'll be sure to invite the others, because that way we'll get more presents." For some reason, this makes Kristy feel better.
Thinking of the course their lives might take, Claudia states that she'd like to live on her own and work on her art before getting married. Kristy, annoyed at a government that won't recognize the union between she and her future lady friend, states that marriage is stupid, and Stacey actually has to tell Kristy that you don't have to get married to have kids. "Oh, good," says Kristy. "Then I want to adopt four children but not get married." Mallory says she wants to have a few kids, but not a freakshow Pike-style litter. Dawn states that she doesn't think she wants to have children, and I rejoice that finally a female in this series considers not having children as an option. Mary Anne says she isn't sure what she wants to do beyond college, because she doesn't want to freak everyone out by telling them that she's purchased her and Logan adjacent burial plots. Stacey says she hopes to run a business, and Jessi and Abby don't get to say what they want to do, because they don't count.
Finally, they all agree to make a pact to meet up in twelve years, once they've all graduated from college. Ten bucks says they try to meet up without telling Mallory.
"Have just spend last few minutes reliving entire party. Thought of pact makes me happier. Am fairly certain that even though our friendships may change as we get older, we will always remain friends, the eight of us."
Holy shit, they forgot about Shannon.
Welp, that's it. That's the end of the Baby-sitters Club. With the exception of how realistically Kristy was written, this book was pretty blah. No last sitting jobs. No last Claudia outfit description. No final showdown with Cokie!? C'mon! For the final incarnation of the series, I would have liked to have seen some high-stakes drama and cat-fighting, not a bunch of letters and bitching about how hard it is to write letters. I think Ann's outline for this book went something like:
Step 1: Have all the characters struggle to write letters to their future selves.
Step 2: ????
Step 3: Profit!!!
But then again -- lazy, sloppily-written, and kind of boring? Doesn't that just sum up the whole series for us? When you think of it that way, I wouldn't have it any other way. So, good-bye, BSC. You gals sure sat on a ton of babies.
The first part of this snark, posted eons ago, can be found here. If reading snarks isn't really your thing (But how could it not be?), then here's a quick summary: the eighth grade is finally ending, as is the Baby-Sitters Club's time at Stoneybrook Middle School. Next year the gang will be attending Stoneybrook High School, a much larger facility, and each girl has different feelings on the matter: Kristy is terrified, Mary Anne is excited, Stacey is ambivalent, and Claudia is hungry.
This book is pretty low on plot, and mostly has letters for filler: the graduates are writing letters from their eighth-grade selves, to be mailed to their twelfth-grade selves in the future, and there is also a time capsule in the works, to be opened in seven years. Letters all around! And now, for the
Kristy
Kristy's still struggling to write a letter to her future self. Personally, I don't see what would be so complicated about this. "Dear Future Kristy: Greetings! I hope our plans for the 2003 merger and acquisition of the We ♥ Kids Club have been successful. By graduation, I assume the BSC will have gained approximately 10 000 members, organized into 1000 smaller cells, each of whom defer to me as the Supreme High Chancellor."
Instead, Kristy goes all afternoon talk show host on us, talking about how strong her mom was to raise a single family, blah blah blah. This segues into her daddy issues, which have gone deliciously untapped until now. Kristy unfortunately cuts this train of thought off, instead of letting said daddy issues fester into a complex that would manifest itself via rebellious lower-back tattoos and badly-chosen boyfriends. Which is a shame, because a California Diaries-style spin-off series that includes Teen Mom Kristy in a crop top would be like a dream come true to me. Yes, my dreams include fictional teen dictators getting their comeuppance. World peace just isn't as satisfying.
Kristy begins a new letter, which talks about the BSC with such relentless optimism that it could be a parody. A snark, if you will: "A defining event in my life was the day I thought up the idea for the Baby-sitters Club. The Club has been just great. It has led to all sorts of wonderful, wonderful things, such as friendship and money. I am so proud of myself. And of my friends. We really made a success of our business." They are the best friend you'll ever have, goddamnit.
Sadly, before we can watch her retell the entire series from her own crazed point-of-view, Charlie comes home, excited that he's been accepted to a college. Kristy's all, "Tits, that's a local college, you can live at home and keep driving me and my squadron of friends everywhere," and Charlie's like, "Eff that noise, I can't bang drunken co-eds if Karen keeps interrupting to play Let's All Come In. I'm living on campus and moving to California as soon as possible, because that's the only other place that exists in the world outside of Connecticut." Kristy is so bummed to be losing her personal taxi driver that the chapter ends with her sulking in her room.
Jackie
A time capsule letter from Jackie Rodowsky? Uh...sure. This book is baffling. There isn't even a letter from Karen in here, but we're getting one from Jackie Rodowsky? Was he the dark horse of the series or something?
Jackie's letter reads as mildly amusing, because it's basically a two-and-a-half page love letter to Kristy. No joke, this kid is obsessed with her. Honestly, book, we all know Kristy's deal at this point; it's a bit late on the campaign trail to try and score points. When Jackie reveals that "Whenever I see Kristy coming I yell inside my head, Look out!!!! Here comes fun!!!!!", I feel a little bad, knowing that when Kristy sees Jackie coming, she yells inside her head "Look out! Here comes the Walking Disaster!", and then books out of there like he's carrying a new strain of the bubonic plague. Jackie seems blissfully unaware of this status, at least.
Jessi
It's Jessi's letter for the time capsule, and Jessi is getting a thoughtful, considerate sendoff, just like Mal did! Haha, oh wait, no she isn't, because Jessi's black. Jessi includes a newspaper clipping of a hate crime committed in a nearby town, and then goes on a very long speech about intolerance that doesn't sound at all like it was written by an eleven-year old. Now, don't get me wrong, I think ignoring societal inequalities is just another way of perpetrating them. But godamnit, couldn't they just write Jessi as her own character instead of the classic token who was created just to make the cast look more diverse and maybe snag some sales from an untapped market to boot? Maybe she could talk about dancing? And ponies? Ponies who dance, perhaps? But honestly, this series hasn't given Jessi much in the way of personality so far....why would they start now?
Stacey
Because this book doesn't want to deal with any plot not involving letters, Stacey is working on hers for the eighth-grade graduates. She begins talking about how the diabeetus is the Big Event That Changed Her Life.
Before the urge to shake Stacey around by her body waved hair rises, she suddenly has the realization that we all did, about one hundred books ago: her diabetes is not terminal cancer. "Why am I telling myself this? I know I have diabetes. And I'll still have it four years from now when I read this letter." I dunno. To fill out another chapter?
Stacey shifts gears to our next Very Special Topic, and it's not how to use your mother's credit card to pay for your birth control without it showing up on her statement. No, it's....Divorce. Stacey contemplates how the divorce changed her family, and how it will change again once her father marries Samantha. Then Stacey zones out and imagines what is possibly the most hilarious sequence in BSC history:
"I am standing with my friends behind the podium that will be set up on the grounds of SMS . . . and looking out at the audience -- all the gathered friends and family members. In the front row I see Mom, Dad . . . and Samantha. Only not seated in that order. Samantha is between Mom and Dad, for some reason. And I can feel the tension from where I am standing. Mom, who has been seething ever since Samantha sat down, pokes Samantha in the side. Samantha pokes her back. Dad pretends not to see this. Then Mom subtly pulls a strand of Samantha's hair, and Samantha yanks a whole handful of Mom's hair. In a flash, a huge fight has broken out. Everyone knows it's my stupid family having the fight and hundreds of pairs of eyes turn on me. I have disrupted the entire graduation ceremony, and I haven't done a thing."
Although Mortal Kombat: Graduation Day is extra hilarious and everything (I love how in Stacey's imagination, her dad would ignore his wife and ex-wife squabbling, as if he's secretly hoping a cat-fight will break out and he might get to see a glimpse of boob), I'm not buying that Stacey would be worrying like this. Didn't Stacey's parents have a fairly amicable divorce (as far as divorces go)? They weren't fighting for custody or anything. I think most 13 year-olds are intelligent enough to understand that her father isn't going to sit his new wife next to his ex-wife. This is something ludicrous Karen would dream up (Oh lord, and then she would hatch some hair-brained scheme to hold two separate graduations, and would dummy up fake invitations to send to each set of parents, and try to get all her classmates to agree to be in on the scheme, because godamnit Ricky, getting your parents to attend two graduations in the same day is just something you have to do for your wife).
Stacey continues to worry unnecessarily, because OMG, where are dad and Samantha going to stay? You know, for a suave, sophisticated New Yorker, Stacey can be pretty effing stupid. It's called a hotel, sweetie. If my hometown of 7000 people managed to boast two, New York must have at least a four or five. Ok, so one of the hotels in my hometown was actually converted from the old schoolboard office, but it got the job done, damnit!
Luckily, Stacey soon finds something new and utterly pointless to lose her shit about -- she's received a letter from the school library, notifying her that the book Ribsy is overdue, and if she doesn't return it, she's unable to graduate. This sends Stacey into a confused spin: "What was this? I had an overdue library book and I couldn't graduate until I returned it? And that overdue book was a copy of Ribsy? When had I taken Ribsy out of our library? I couldn't believe I had ever checked it out. Ribsy is a fabulous story (I love Beverly Cleary's books), but it is a tad on the babyish side for someone who is about to enter high school."
Number one, fuck you Stacey. Beverly Cleary is awesome, which is why I'm 26 and have a whole shelf full of her books. You know what's babyish? Sheep on your goddamn sweater! That's right! It's been a long time, but I still remember what you wore in Kristy's Great Idea!
Number two, take a freaking chill pill, because no school is going to keep you in the eighth grade for the rest of your whole life because you can't find a book. Seriously, what are you going to do the next year when you don't have the book? Or the year after that? Apparently Stacey actually grew under a rock, not in New York, because along with being clueless about hotels, she's never heard of paying a fine..
"The only good thing about not being able to graduate was that now my mother and Samantha wouldn't have a fistfight in front of all of SMS." Well, that and you'll be keeping Claudia company when she fails everything.
Kristy
Kristy's letter for the time capsule begins with her disclaimer that "I'm not sure exactly who will be opening this time capsule seven years from now. It should be Byron, Jordan, and Adam Pike, along with other people from the neighborhood. But you never know." In seven years, Byron, Jordan, and Adam Pike are going to be 17. Based on my knowledge of 17-year olds, they'll probably be in a liquor store somewhere, trying to convince some clerk that their aggregate ages and identical DNA totally makes them legal enough to by a bottle of Boone's strawberry wine. Some time capsule they did when they were ten probably isn't high on their list of concerns, particularly since none of their time capsule letters are even featured in this book.
Other than that, Kristy talks up the BSC, and lists all the super amazing things they've done: talent shows, basket-weaving, baby parades, carnivals, performances of The Three Billy Goats Gruff, goat-sitting. No joke, goats made the list twice. At this point, Kristy should have taken a step back, looked at the massive list of BSC accomplishments, and said "Holy shitsnacks! I've wasted the last two years of my life, and I didn't even get paid for a lot of this stuff!" But Kristy is a robot, programmed only for baby-sitting and baby-sitting related activities. Instead, she encourages the reader of the letter to take inspiration from the Club flyer, and start their own Baby-Sitters Club! Why, I bet even I, the reader of this book, could do that! Because there's nothing like providing free advertising for a book series that's about to draw its last breath.
Abby
Abby's contribution to the time machine is a home-made photo album, detailing who the "major neighborhood players" were at the time of the capsule's creation. I see that playing out in two different scenarios. Either A: The time capsule is opened, as intended, by the Pike triplets in seven years, and everyone there is like, "Why the fuck did Abby include these pictures? We know who made the time capsule -- we were there. What a moron." Or B: The more likely scenario, everyone forgets the time capsule until eighty years down the road, someone needs to check the septic tank in Mary Anne's backyard and uncovers it. They find Abby's album and are like, "Hot damn, baby-sitting was serious business back in the day!"
Abby proceeds to include captions for each of the photos, but the "photos" aren't actually included in the book. We just get Abby's description of said photos. No, I'm not shitting you. I don't know if they thought this book might get too exciting with pictures, but I can assure you: it's not. One of the repeated criticisms of the BSC books is that they really need to work on showing, not telling. This cannot be more true in the case of photos. I'm genuinely tempted to send Ann M. Martin a hate letter for this one, because this just takes the cake. Godamn, this book is so slapped-together and lazy.
On the plus side, I thought of a third option for the fate of the time capsule. C: Time passes, more than seven years, maybe a decade or two. Mallory, having grown stranger and stranger over the years, returns with a shovel on a dark stormy night, and digs up the time capsule (For some reason, she's also wearing a Phantom of the Opera-style mask and cape. Mallory seems like someone who would be scarily obsessed with Phantom of the Opera). She takes the letters and that beloved photo album home, lovingly stroking them and dreaming of days gone by.
Claudia
Poor Claudia. Poor, sweet, dumb Claudia. Because this is the laziest book ever, Claudia is trying to write her letter to her future self and failing. She is also scarily determined to write said letter, because apparently she's terrified of everyone "(and by 'everyone,' I mean Kristy)" asking her at the end of high school if she had received her letter, and having to say "no." Sweet Jesus, Claudia, this is the point when you need to get out of this relationship and get to a shelter. They're totally anonymous, and Kristy won't be able to find you there.
Claudia is so pathetically simple that it's never occurred to her to just lie about the letter, but she does consider mailing herself a blank piece of paper. Even that, apparently, would be too much of a reminder of what a pathetic student she is. I feel like I need to interject here. Claudia, seriously, when you graduate high school you'll be grateful not to receive a letter from your 13 year-old self. No one needs to be reminded of how lame they were at 13. You'll just be blathering on about how Devon Sawa is the best actor ever and Party of Five is the best TV show ever and Prozzäk is the best band ever. Actually, I still quite like Prozzäk.
Click to viewBecause this book can never achieve an emotional high above "turbo depressing," Claudia stops panicking about her letter and starts flipping out about school instead. You see, Claudia received a science project back that was worth 25% of her grade. Speaking of, the subject of Claudia and school sure must have constantly resulted in this little exchange at Scholastic:
Editor 1: Ok, we need to create a problem for Claudia. How about...she's having trouble with school? Having trouble with school is something a lot of kids can relate to!
Editor 2: I like it! But we don't want her to actually seem stupid. Nobody respects stupid people.
Editor 1: I've got it -- we'll continue writing her as being of normal intelligence, but just insert inexplicable problems with school. Everybody wins!
Editor 2: That's perfect! We're sure to win a Newberry medal now! *High fives*
True to form, Claudia submitted a project that sounded reasonably competent (thesis, control groups, etc) but received an inexplicably low grade: D+. What the hell, Science Teacher? Based on her description, she covered all the basics for an eighth-grade science paper. Jesus, you should be grateful she didn't submit a papier-mache volcano. Apparently having Janine and the Perkins girls in the school systems have really wrecked the grading curve for everyone.
Claudia, in a blind panic that even mallomars binge cannot soothe, calls Stacey. Stacey offers to tutor Claudia in science as well as math, and Claudia immediately feels better, noting it was "just like the old days." Awww.
Stacey
Stacey's letter for the time capsule reads pretty much like Kristy's -- a reference letter endorsing the BSC. She says that when she had the choice to live in either New York or Stoneybrook, she chose Stoneybrook because of the BSC and all those heartwarming, child-centric activities they always organize. Then she includes a flyer from a talent show the BSC held, and describes said talent show for the reader. Because there's nothing like reading about an utterly boring talent show -- unless it's someone describing said talent show for you in a letter.
Claire
Yes, Claire gets a letter in this book too, because heaven forbid there be some actual dialogue or character interaction or anything. Claire is placing her bear, Ba-ba, in the time capsule, and her letter is a long treatise on why, as dictated to Vanessa. Seriously, that's it. Sure, there's a momentary shout-out to Uncle Joe, but other than that, it's three pages of "Little Girl Likes Her Doll."
Along with having better handwriting than half of the BSC members and better spelling than Claudia, Vanessa has proven herself to have boatloads more common sense as well. She includes at note at the end of Claire's letter warning that she doesn't think Claire understands that her bear will be locked away in the time capsule permanently, and when she asked Mallory about it, Mallory just said to throw the damn bear in. Mallory should lose baby-sitter merit points for that one, since it shows an utter lack of understanding of her own sister or ANY FIVE YEAR-OLD EVER. You know locking the bear up and burying it is going to lead to a massive shitstorm -- this seems like Baby-Sitting 101. I like to think Mal was caught up in some fantastical fantasy in her own head, like dreaming she had solved the mystery of Who Killed Phar Lap?
Even more than that, though, I like the fact that Vanessa made a specific note of Mallory's poor judgement, even though it would serve no purpose once the letter was in the time capsule. It's like, "And that's how Mallory was a dumb bitch . If you dig up this time capsule and there are claw marks on the outside that look as though they were made by a five year-old girl, you know why."
Dawn
"I guess some of you are looking at this and wondering why someone who lives in California has been asked to participate in the Stoneybrook time capsule project." Dawn, honey, you are overestimating people's interest in this little time capsule. She also gets weirdly personal with her letter, going into unnecessary detail about her time spent in Stoneybrook. Seriously, I'm not sure these girls even understand the point of a time capsule. It's not supposed to be for showcasing you and your little clique of friends, particularly if said clique are the ones opening the stupid time capsule. Remembering she's supposed to be talking about Stoneybrook, Dawn includes a page of advertisements from the local newspaper, and starts speculating on how the prices might change in the future. And by "the future," we mean, of course, in seven years. My god, do you think the continents will have shifted by then? Stoneybrook might not even exist!
Dawn particularly focuses on the cost of airfare, since she and Jeff fly across the country so much, which leads to this awkward line: "Well, who knows? In seven years, maybe air travel will have changed somehow . . ." She's referring to the cost and speed of airtravel, but it's particularly cringeworthy considering the book's publication in 2000. I gotta say, I'm pretty glad this series ended before it had to either ignore September 11th or attempt to address it with grace, and of course fail horrifically.
"[Stoneybrook]'s been a second home to me, but the less time I spend here the less connected I feel to it, and I don't like that. If you live in Stoneybrook now, enjoy it. It's a great place to live!" This message has been sponsored by your friends at the Stoneybrook Department of Tourism.
Mary Anne
Because this book is a one-trick pony that needs to be taken out on a hot date with the business end of a shotgun, Mary Anne is trying to write a letter. And failing at it. Seriously, guys, I'm pretty sure we could give the BSC a better send-off than this, and we hate these characters.
Mary Anne can't seem to find the words to say to her future, 17-year old self. Could it be because she's not sure what the future holds? Is it because she is sure what the future holds, and doesn't want to think of it? Is it because your past self telling your future self stuff you already know is is pointless exercise? Oh wait, no, apparently it's because she's "blocking" because she has unresolved feelings for Logan.
Ummm....Wut?
Jesus, it's like this book is playing musical chairs with leotarded plot points now. Where did that even come from? I'm not sure what offends me more -- how unapologetically lazy this book is, with it's utter rejection of plot and dialogue, or this complete reversal of Mary Anne's character. I recently read Mary Anne vs. Logan as possible snark material, and the reason I haven't snarked it is because it's actually an ok book. I mean, ignoring the fact that the characters act much older than 13, it does a decent job of addressing how some girls become completely overwhelmed by early relationships, and Mary Anne actually realizes this and stands up for herself. It's one of the better moments for her character (And this is coming from someone who hates Mary Anne), and to have her going crawling back to Logan after breaking up with him a second time (Friends Forever #3: Mary Anne's Big Break-up) is completely antithetical to her character in this book. The way these books can drive me into a raw, white-hot rage is almost admirable.
Mary Anne herself admits that her relationship with Logan should be finished business, considering her very good reasons for breaking up with him. "And yet, now that we weren't speaking, now that Logan did occasionally see other girls, why did my decision seem . . . not quite right? I remembered the things that had been wrong with our relationship -- and suddenly they seemed fixable."
Christ on a crutch, Mary Anne, grow a pair! "I love Logan! I hate Logan! I love Logan!" This whole fiasco has drifted perilously close to Friends territory. Logan is one greasy gel-do away from being Ross Geller (Alternately, Ross is one secret crush on Chandler away from being Logan).
Being a woman of action, Mary Anne heads picks up the phone...and hangs it up again. She picks up the phone, dials one number...and hangs up. She picks up the phone and dials three numbers for hanging up. This occurs five more times before she completely dials Logan's number and then creepily hangs up on his sister without saying anything. Mary Anne finally gives up on the phone idea and goes to make supper, but "I had made a decision. I needed to talk to Logan." Is there amnesia gas in here or something? If she just decided to talk to Logan, then what was all the phone-dialing about? Was it just serving Mary Anne's compulsory need to push buttons? Cause I gotta tell ya, Mary Anne, a calculator will serve the same purpose and probably result in fewer harassment charges.
Claudia
Claudia's letter for the time capsule details all of the different events occurring that year to celebrate Stoneybrook's 250-year anniversary. Nice sentiment and all, but since it doesn't involve my town and I don't get a chance to mingle in the town square and get a slice of delicious cake balanced on a paper napkin, I'm finding it hard to care. Moving on.
Charlotte
Man, I wish Karen had a chapter in this book. You know her letter for the time capsule would be some awesome scam she was trying to run, trying to convince the reader that she was actually the princess of Stoneybrook, and when they opened the time capsule seven years in the future, they should come pay her tribute. Sadly, Charlotte isn't a self-absorbed brat, so she just included the school lunch menu and talks about Stacey.
Stacey
Stacey has apparently forgotten the Library Book of Absolute Failure and managed to complete her letter to her future self. She gives Future Stacey an overview of the current state of affairs, including the fact that her mother is about to open her own store, and that four years from now, it will be a big success. Seeing as most businesses fail in their first few years, I wish Stacey a grim, "Good luck." Stacey describes her father as a "another story" and a "workaholic." Jeez, bigdad, when your 13 year-old daughter describes you with such loving terms of endearment, it's a hint that maybe you should stop trolling the Sexy Singles chat rooms and start spending some time with her.
Stacey also notes that bigdad and Samantha will be getting married soon, and she hopes that her father will want more children, both a boy and a girl. "After all," she says modestly, "he had a pretty nice kid the first time around." I dunno Stace, after having one child stricken with the tragedy of diabetes, I'm not sure your father could endure that pain again.
Stacey does all but admit that she'll be dropping Kristy and Mary Anne like dead weight once she hits high school, and I commend her for it (Obligatory Mean Girls reference: "Kristy learned how to channel all her rage into sports, and Mary Anne found herself a new queen bee to serve"). Stacey also assumes she'll be done with Ethan by the time she receives this letter back, because Stacey is a serial dater and goes through men the way most people go through tooth brushes.
And her plans for the future? "I don't know what I want to study in college, though. Maybe something involving math? Or business? (I bet you're laughing at this now. I bet you're on your way to Connecticut College to study history or something.)" I bet she does late-night commercials for a phone sex service. "Hi, I'm Stacey, and I'd love to get your call. Try Quest now!"
Mary Anne
Urgghh, didn't we just have a Mary Anne chapter? I don't like Mary Anne! There, I said it. *Inhales* Just a few chapters left, I can endure.
Mary Anne doesn't know what feels better -- finishing her letter to her future self, or talking to Logan. Considering how long-winded and self-congratulating that effing letter is, I know what my guess is. We'll tackle that letter first ("I'll get to [Logan] in a minute, though" Mary Anne reassures us, and being starved for drama after slogging through this bare-bones husk of a book, I find myself excited at the prospect).
Mary Anne considers the fire that burnt down her house to be the most defining event of her life, as it caused she and her family to spend "almost a year living in flux", a statement that leaves the series' continuity so in flux that my brain goes in knots trying to sort it out. This "almost a year" period seems to run from second-to-last book of the Baby-Sitters Club (#131: The Fire at Mary Anne's House) to book eleven of Friends Forever (Welcome Home, Mary Anne). So our "almost a year" equals out to be thirteen books -- most of the Friends Forever series -- which is fine and dandy, assuming you completely ignore the 120 books of the original BSC series that the girls also spent in the eighth grade (For the first ten-or-so books, they were in the seventh grade). The editors all but out-and-out say, "Yeah, this doesn't make any sense, but we're not going to try and correct it, because....well, we don't care to." It's just...I...what is this...I don't even...
Huh? I guess I blacked out there for a second. Where was I? Oh yes, the fire. The fire, Mary Anne declares proudly, has made her a stronger person. That's why she broke up with Logan -- she felt like he was smothering her, and she wanted control over her own life. Then she spends the next three pages blathering on about Logan, asking her future self if they're together. She even talks about how they'd probably gong to be going to different schools -- Logan will want to get into whatever school has the best theatre department, but she wants to study Psychology (Mary Anne's Master's thesis: "A Baby-Sitting Apostate: Cult Behaviour in Teenaged Girls"). Now here's a little spoiler for you: after finishing her letter, Mary Anne admits that nothing happened between her and Logan. No joke. Apparently, she asked Logan to meet her after school ("He hadn't sounded thrilled with the idea . . .") and "nothing earth-shattering happened." Translation: he turned her down. Man, Mary Anne is fucking crazy. Her eighth-grade ex-boyfriend shot her down, and she's writing a letter to her future self asking if they're going to college together? Holy cow, Mary Anne just edged Mallory out for "Most Bat-Shit Insane Person in the BSC."
Final point to bitch about: WE DON'T EVEN GET TO SEE THE CONVERSATION BETWEEN HER AND LOGAN. She just recounts it in a couple of sentences. Oh my god, why does this book hate action? Guys, it's not a movie. You don't have to build the sets. You just have to write about them. Jesus, even California Diaries did a pretty good job of retelling "action" sequences after they happened. WHY WON'T YOU LET ME HAVE ANY FUN, BOOK?!?
Claudia
Claudia's letter to her future self is my favourite, partially because she's my favourite character, and partially because it's freaking hilarious. For her letter, she decides to interview herself. The letter is actually scripted between herself and a third-person "Interview Person." I love it. So much. It reminds me of when Talking Heads frontman David Byrne dressed up in costumes and interviews himself. It's kooky and weird and so awesomely Claudia.
The "Interview Person" asks Claudia who the most important people in her life are, and after a very long response, the Interviewer notes that she left someone out.....
Interview Person: Don't forget Alan.
Me: How could I forget Alan. Well I don't realy think we'll still be together in 4 yars. It's just such a long time away. But Alan and I are having fun now. I think will hang out over the summer and then -- Excuse me interviewier but could we not talk about Alan now.
Interview person: Oh is Alan a sore subject. Well we dont have to talk about him.
She actually asks herself about Alan, and then asks not to talk about him! What a nut! And then, this...
Interviewer person: Is there anything else you would like to add.
Me: I really realy hope I pass my finals so I can go on to SHS with my friends next yar. I couldn't bare to be held back again.
Freindly Interview person: You' will pass them. Don't worry.
Me: Thank you.
Well, that "freindly interview person" doesn't know shit, and the fact that Claudia manages to misspell "really" after just spelling it properly pretty much screams that she's going to fail. Checking some of her graded exams at the school office, Claudia learns she failed Science. She'll be spending another year in the eighth grade.
Kristy
Kristy's letter to her future self is as sad as Claudia's is hilarious, and I really can't snark it. As lazy as this book has been, they really captures how Kristy -- crazy, bossy, controlling Kristy -- would react, internally, if everything started changing on her. I'm just gonna quote a few choice bits, since I think the words would lose their impact if I haphazardly summed them up. Kristy talks about how everything has been changing (her family, school, her friends), and how the BSC drew her and her friends closer together, and gave them so many opportunities.
"You know what? I have to admit something. I will admit it only once, and only here. The club is so important to me that I have been really hurt that it has changed and that it will probably change again. Whenever anybody dropped out of the club . . . I felt stung. And recently, when [people] dropped out . . . and when Stacey, Claud, and Mary Anne said they could stay in the club but would have to scale back, I felt as if my world had fallen away. I know that sounds overly dramatic . . . but that is how I felt.
"The Baby-sitters Club is my baby. It's my creation. I am SO proud of it. It may seem small and amateurish to some people, but it doesn't to me. It is the greatest thing I have done, and I must keep it alive. If it ends, a little part of me will die. And the worst thing is that no one understands this.
"Why is the BSC not as important to anyone else as it is to me? Maybe in four years I'll have the answer to that. Right now I just feel as though I am standing at the edge of a cliff. I feel alone, and I feel scared, and I feel confused because I know I am the only one of my friends who feels this way. Everyone else is ready to move ahead . . . And I'll be left standing at my cliff, afraid to fall, unable to turn around and go back . . ."
"So there we have it. I suppose the creation of the Baby-sitters Club was the defining event of my life. It must have been, if it's all I can write about now. I mean, here's my opportunity to write about Dad, about the impact his leaving had on our family and on my life, about how mad him I've been. And here's my opportunity to write about what Watson's coming into our lives meant, about Emily's arrival. But all I can focus on is the Baby-sitters Club. Or maybe I'm obsessing about it. Who knows?"
Hey, I wonder who'll get all the treasury money if the BSC breaks up?
Charlie
I guess Charlie's finally getting some well-deserved attention after all those years of carting around Kristy & co., because his letter that he wrote to himself when he was thirteen is included. Unfortunately, Charlie's handwriting sucks ass, and I'm not going to struggle to decipher it. Honestly, do they not sell lined paper in this town??
Stacey: Wednesday, June 21
Remember that big drama-rama about Stacey not graduating because of that stupid library book? Well, apparently it resolved itself. Off-screen. Stacey's like, "Oh, yeah, I realized I was being dumb and just bought a new book to replace it." I count my lucky stars that I didn't check this book out from a library, because it's going up in smoke the moment I'm finished.
Now that that nail-biting problem has been solved, the time capsule can be buried! Everyone crowds around to drop in their letters and items, and Kristy is all, "Claire, are you sure you wanna lock your stuffed bear into this tin can...forever?"
Vanessa is like, "I know, right?!" but Mal just shrugs. God, it's like they couldn't get the actress who plays Mallory back for the last episode, and now they're trying to draw as little attention as possible to the new actress by not giving her any lines. Kristy throws the first handful of dirt on the time capsule, and as it's completely buried, Claire "looked horrified."
Oh well, I'm sure she'll get over it.
Mary Anne: Thursday, June 22
She didn't get over it.
First thing the next morning, the phone rings, which Sharon answers as quickly as possible for fear it will wake up Dawn and Jeff, who flew in late the night before (First time that's been mentioned). Handing the phone off to Mary Anne, it's a screaming Claire, who is unsurprisingly hysterical because her beloved bear is trapped under the cold, hard ground. Then Mrs. Pike gets on the line, sounding bitchy because apparently they've been awake since 12 am, when Claire woke up and started crying. Jesus Dee, just give her a Gravol hidden in a hunk of cheese, it'll knock her right out. Then Mallory gets on the phone, crabbily demanding that the time capsule be dug up. Apparently Mallory left her cognizance at boarding school, because I seem to recall this little disaster being her fault.
Mary Anne, ever the milksop to the end, frets that they should notify Kristy before digging up the time capsule. Jesus, the damn thing is buried in Mary Anne's own yard. If she had dressed all in black and snuck out in the middle of the night to dig it up, Kristy probably wouldn't have found out about it. But Mary Anne had to go tell, and Kristy reacts as one would to having an enema. She's only moderately appeased at getting to see Dawn, who in turn gets to see a tin can be dug up and then buried again. Stoneybrook: It's a non-stop thrill ride!
Claudia: Thursday, June 22
OMG YOU GUYZ CLAUDIA IS GOING TO GRADUATE WITH EVERYONE ELSE!!1! Luckily, it's all been resolved...off-screen. WHY!? WHY IS THIS BOOK SO BORING!?
Apparently Claudia's parents went to talk to the guidance counsellor, and worked out a deal where Claudia takes science in summer school, but she'd still be allowed to attend graduation with her friends. Except she won't get a diploma, she'll get a blank piece of paper. So everything's ok, then. What a pointless plot contrivance. Except for the part where Claudia's parents slipped some cash to the guidance counsellor. You'd think a guidance counsellor accepting under-the-table bribes to allow some kids to take part in a phoney-baloney graduation would be the subject of a BSC mystery. Apparently when you're on the receiving end of the perks, it's ok though. Oh well...I guess every boring cloud has a silver lining.
Seeing as I didn't care when I received my high school diploma, I didn't care when I received my bachelor's degree, and I'm not anticipating a lot of excitement about receiving my master's degree, I'm finding it incredibly difficult to care about these girls graduating from the eighth grade. Especially since one of them isn't even graduating. As the girls line up for the ceremony, Kristy of all people bursts into tears. Will someone please get that poor girl some help??
As they file through the gym and outside to the bleachers, Claudia can hear "the sound of our school band tuning up (minus all its eighth-grade members, of course", and I cringe at the thought. A smattered pack of eleven and twelve year-olds playing at your graduation? Enjoy marching to a poorly-tuned version of "Pop Goes the Weasel," ad nauseum. After some boring-ass speeches (Fun Fact: Emily Bernstein was the valedictorian), Claudia marches to the podium, receives her diploma (Sorry, blank piece of paper), and hears a cry from the audience which she suspects is her parents shouting with relief. Yeah, I wouldn't get too excited, Kishis. She barely passed eighth grade. Odds are, things are going downhill from here. I suspect you'll have to push this one out of the nest after she refuses to move out, arguing it's cheaper to live at home and work on "her art."
The girls joyfully celebrate the fact that most of them have a minimum of eight years of schooling ahead of them, just so they can enter the workforce with a worthless degree in direct competition with a bunch of baby boomers who have more experience and refuse to retire. Do I sound bitter? I'm not bitter. Before everyone heads off to Claudia's for a graduation party, Kristy is determined to drag everyone into her bog of depression, requesting a group photo of all the BSC members.
"'Why?' asked Dawn.
"'Because I want one picture to remind me of us as we used to be,' said Kristy. 'Before some of us graduated and everything changed.'"
"When I looked at that picture later," Claudia comments, "after Janine had had her film developed, I saw one of the most somber pictures ever taken of the eight of us." Call me creepy, but am I the only one who can see this leading to a suicide pact? If so, then props to AMM for ballsiness. A suicide pact between all of the series' main characters is certainly something the Sweet Valley High writers never had the guts to touch. Take that, 1bruce1!
Kristy: June 23
Last chapter! It's a post-graduation party at Claudia's house, which means this shit is gonna get wild! And boy howdy, it does....with glitter balloons! "We are . . . the Baby-sitters Club!" cries Mary Anne, and I cry at how lame she is. Best to get this one to bed, before she gets overstimulated.
Jessi bemoans being left alone at SMS, with her friends either graduating or at boarding school. "You'll survive," comforts Mallory. "At least you won't be a lowly sixth-grader anymore. Seventh grade is much cooler." I scoff out loud at this statement, as I refuse to believe Mallory has any idea as to what's cool. The girls discuss what's going to be the best part of high school: "Older guys" for Claudia, who apparently forgets about Alan the second he's out of the room, and "better dances" for Stacey, who dreams of some sweet underage drinking. "Better everything," says Mary Anne wistfully. Why do these girls think high school is Shangri-La? I get some grim amusement from the knowledge that, being freshmen, these girls will be at the bottom rung of high school's social ladder and will be torn apart like a hot dog at a pigeon party.
As everyone begins speculating on what the future may hold, Kristy begins freaking out, until Mary Anne bitchslaps her and is like, "Kristy, shut up. We'll probably drift apart in the future and keep in touch via phone and Christmas cards. And when one of us has a wedding or a baby shower, we'll be sure to invite the others, because that way we'll get more presents." For some reason, this makes Kristy feel better.
Thinking of the course their lives might take, Claudia states that she'd like to live on her own and work on her art before getting married. Kristy, annoyed at a government that won't recognize the union between she and her future lady friend, states that marriage is stupid, and Stacey actually has to tell Kristy that you don't have to get married to have kids. "Oh, good," says Kristy. "Then I want to adopt four children but not get married." Mallory says she wants to have a few kids, but not a freakshow Pike-style litter. Dawn states that she doesn't think she wants to have children, and I rejoice that finally a female in this series considers not having children as an option. Mary Anne says she isn't sure what she wants to do beyond college, because she doesn't want to freak everyone out by telling them that she's purchased her and Logan adjacent burial plots. Stacey says she hopes to run a business, and Jessi and Abby don't get to say what they want to do, because they don't count.
Finally, they all agree to make a pact to meet up in twelve years, once they've all graduated from college. Ten bucks says they try to meet up without telling Mallory.
"Have just spend last few minutes reliving entire party. Thought of pact makes me happier. Am fairly certain that even though our friendships may change as we get older, we will always remain friends, the eight of us."
Holy shit, they forgot about Shannon.
Welp, that's it. That's the end of the Baby-sitters Club. With the exception of how realistically Kristy was written, this book was pretty blah. No last sitting jobs. No last Claudia outfit description. No final showdown with Cokie!? C'mon! For the final incarnation of the series, I would have liked to have seen some high-stakes drama and cat-fighting, not a bunch of letters and bitching about how hard it is to write letters. I think Ann's outline for this book went something like:
Step 1: Have all the characters struggle to write letters to their future selves.
Step 2: ????
Step 3: Profit!!!
But then again -- lazy, sloppily-written, and kind of boring? Doesn't that just sum up the whole series for us? When you think of it that way, I wouldn't have it any other way. So, good-bye, BSC. You gals sure sat on a ton of babies.